Cold Iron
by labyrinths
Summary: Female Jaime kills the king and speaks with Ned Stark. "Her eyes burn, green as the wildfire she speaks of and she scorches him with her gaze."
1. Chapter 1

**Cold Iron**

_Summary: Female Jaime kills the king and speaks with Ned Stark. I may write more if I get enough reviews.  
_

He walks into the throne room and the spectacle freezes him in his tracks, for the king lays on the floor in a puddle of blood and there is a blonde woman sitting on the throne, her dress smeared crimson, her head tilted high, like a queen's, though she wears no crown. He does not know what he expected to find, but certainly not this perplexing tableaux.

"Ned Stark," she says and he is surprised she knows him. His house colours must give him away, just as her golden hair and green eyes brand her: this must be no other than Jaimee Lannister, daughter of Tywin, sister to Cesare.

"I killed him, if that is what you are wondering," she says, her voice loud and clear, even defiant.

"How so?"

"With a knife," she says and raises her hand to show him the murder weapon, its hilt of gold. "It belongs to my brother, Cesare. A gift put to good use."

_How could you?_ he wonders, though he does not manage the words. But she guesses the question, answering it anyway.

"He was quite paranoid these past few days. He wouldn't trust anyone, keeping only the company of his pyromancers, sending his guards away. Keeping me close. So you see, there was no one to stop me when I stabbed him in the back, then slid this against his throat," she says. "The pyromancers all fled when they saw he was good and dead."

He looks down at the corpse upon the floor, then at her, takes a few paces towards the woman.

"Kingslaying," he mutters.

"Are you offended? I've saved you some work," she says.

Dragon skulls stare down at Ned from the walls. He feels as if they are whispering to him, somehow. The others are nearby. Soon Robert will burst through those doors, his men will fill the throne room, but for now he is alone with this woman and the dead king, and the feeling of disquiet in his body.

"This the utmost treachery, Lady Lannister."

"Utmost treachery! How prettily you speak. Let me tell you a tale of treachery. My father sends me to court to serve the Queen, like my mother did. But when Robert Baratheon raises his banners the King grows afraid. He thinks my father may desert him, so he turns me into his prisoner. He keeps me by his side, day and night. I remind him of my mother, he says. And he says other things. Vile things and does vile deeds."

The woman leans forward and he steps closer to the throne. She looks at him straight in the eye, cold as iron.

"And he makes me watch when he burns people. I cannot get the stench of burnt flesh from my nose," her eyes narrow. "He burns your father, my lord. Five hundred men just stand there and watch. All the great knights of the Seven Kingdoms. You think anyone said a word, lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except for the screams, of course, and the mad king laughing."

Ned feels his mouth go dry and he is now right in front of the throne, in front of her, staring up at this woman.

"He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. He burned lords he didn't like. He burned Hands who disobeyed him. He burned anyone who was against him. Aerys saw traitors everywhere. So he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city. Beneath the Sept of Baelor and the slums of Flea Bottom. Under houses, stables, taverns. Even beneath the Red Keep itself."

He does not want to hear more. Does not want to picture his father's blackening flesh, the caches of wildfire, the king's laughter…but he must listen to his tale. He cannot bring himself to say _Quiet, now_.

"He tortured your brother. And he told me, my lord, that if he even _thinks_ my father might betray him he'll tear the skin from my bones and then he'll fetch my brother, burn him, and feed him to me. And do you know what he told me a few hours ago, my lord? He said _I'll burn them._ _Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds. I'll burn them all_. He... he meant to... burn with the rest of us and rise again, reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies to ash. I slit his throat to make sure that didn't happen. I'd slit it again, if I had to."

Her eyes burn, green as the wildfire she speaks of and she scorches him with her gaze.

"Utmost treachery! You judge me guilty, of course. By what right does the wolf judge the lion? By what right?" she asks, her face fierce like the lions she speaks of, her voice rising, almost shrill.

He stares at her and says nothing. There are no words he can use. He is filled with a vast sense of helplessness. He stands there in a stunned, painful silence until she rises, slowly, then laughs a laugh that is as brittle as glass.

"Do you want to sit down? I daresay it is not a very comfortable chair."

He hears the voices of soldiers approaching, Robert, his men. She hears it too, raises her head and for the first time since he walked into the room she seems afraid, suddenly clutching her knife against her chest and stepping away from him, a wild look on her face.

"Give that to me," he says, pointing to the knife.

"I shall not."

"My lady, it is best you give it to me," he says, because he fears that once Robert and the others burst into the throne room she might hurt herself. Or them. That she may attempt some madness.

_Mad_, he thinks, _this girl is mad_.

"No."

"Do not be afraid. No harm will come to you."

"I do not know you," she says and raises the knife and he thinks she means to strike him, but does not move to stop her.

"On my honor," he replies.

She is so young but her eyes are old; it pains him. She closes those green eyes of hers and tosses away the knife. She sinks upon the floor, her skirts pooling around her, the front of her dress smeared with her bloodied fingerprints and he thinks she might break. She might cry. But she does not.


	2. Chapter 2

When she was a child , Jaimee used to jump off the cliffs of Casterly Rock. There was a thrilling moment when she fell, an instant when Jaimee thought she might sprout wings and fly. Cesare chided her every time she jumped, telling her she was stupid. He did not understand this folly. Her little brother, Tyrion, with his love of dragon tales, perhaps was closer to understanding.

Freedom seemed so close for a second, when she jumped.

Flight, such an impossibility, was within grasp.

Anything could happen. It thrilled her, this thought.

She had curtailed such impulsiveness with the years, yet something wild remains beneath her skin and when she looks out the window she cannot help but think _If only I could jump_ now. But the chamber where she is kept a prisoner has narrow windows. Even if it wasn't so, she would not jump. She'd had a chance to do so long before Eddard Stark walked into the throne room and yet she did not take it.

This is the fate she has chosen, this small chamber of narrow windows.

She sleeps, dreams of the blue depths of the sea near her home, thinks of Cesare, needs him. She fervently whispers her brother's name, wishing to invoke him. It is not he who comes to her, however. It is Eddard Stark.

"My Lady, how do you fare?" he asks.

He has such a dour face, this young lord. Cesare can be petulant, his face contorting into an ugly mask when he is enraged, but she has never seen him sport such a grim expression.

"The guards posted outside my door will not speak to me and the maids cower when they bring me food or draw my bath, but aside from the lack of conversation I am well enough," she says. "Besides, I am used to acting the part of a prisoner before one king or another."

It is true, the whole lot. She has not been mistreated. The rooms they have arranged for her are comfortable, even luxurious. And after enduring Aerys there is little that can upset her. Still, she longs for the murmur of the sea, the safety of home, and the arms of Cesare.

"I am glad to hear that," he says, blandly.

"Why are you here?" she asks, sitting down on a plush, velvet chair and resting her chin against the back of her hand.

"I had the chance to speak to my brother. He said you saved his life. I…wanted to thank you for that kindness."

Yes, she had committed that folly, asking Aerys to spare the life of the Stark heir. She did not know why she did it. Perhaps the never-ending carnage was suddenly unbearable, perhaps it was the youth of the prisoner or the look in his eyes. He had been so scared. And for a second, perhaps, she thought this a necessary act of chivalry, like in the books: Cesare had chided her for that, too. Her utmost love of songs, heroic deeds, tales in old tomes. She wanted to be a great lady, kind and brave and true, and she wanted adventures. Sometimes, in her wildest dreams, she wanted to be a warrior maiden wielding a sword. _Your head is always in the clouds_, Cesare had once said. _Instead of learning how to play the game you memorize_ _songs_.

She did not recall the exact reason but she _did ask_ Aerys to spare Brandon Stark and the king agreed – he could be generous and take her advice one moment, then strike her the next. So he'd agreed and the young man had been dragged to the dungeons. Later she'd heard he'd been tortured for the sport of it and that they'd burnt his hands and she wondered if she'd done him a favor, after all.

"How is he?" she asks, not because she cares to know the answer. Not really. But Eddard Stark is staring at her, like he expects her to ask a question and she does not know what else to say.

"Malnourished and ill. He may not live."

_How apt_, she thinks.

Eddard Stark is still staring at her with his grim, insufferable face.

"I owe you a debt, Lady Lannister. If there is anything I may do for you, all you need is ask."

He is easy to read: it hurts him very badly to owe a debt to her. She is, after all, a vile murderess. She finds some satisfaction in his discomfort.

"You could give me some answers. Nobody will speak to me, so I will ask you: are my father and my brother on their way here?"

"They arrived last night."

She is surprised by this knowledge. She thought Cesare would rush to her side as soon as he arrived, eager to ensure her safety. His absence worries her. However, she tries to maintain her composure and she speaks again.

"What does our new king intend to do with me?"

"I cannot say. Your father and Robert will meet tomorrow morning."

"What do you _think_ he will do with me? Should I begin rehearsing my dance before the executioner?"

She says this lightly, as a jest, knowing full well the chances of being beheaded are slim. She is Tywin Lannister's daughter, after all. He will not allow such an act. And yet she wonders what the king plans for her. If she were a man she imagines she'd be forced to take the black, but she is no man. Exile? Such a punishment might also befit a man, but she is a lady. Leniency might be forthcoming. But her sex must also mark her, stain her, in a worse manner than if she were a man. One expects the brutality of an unkind death from men, but not of women. Death in the shape of a knife, no less. Jaimee cannot even claim the more lady-like use of poison. What will become of herself, then? She does not know.

"My lord, I want you to take a message to my brother. Tell Cesare I must see him today."

"You are _not_ allowed any visitors, by order of the King."

"Yet you are here," Jaimee says. "Bring me my brother and I will consider our debt repaid."

He seems so terribly confused, torn, and it makes her want to giggle at the sight of his silly face so she turns away from him, stares out one of the narrow windows, stares at the sky.

"It shall be done," he says at last.

She looks over her shoulder for a brief moment. Looks at him.

Note: I figured that if Jaime saved Brienne from a bear, Jaimee might save the Stark heir as her own act of 'chivalry.' I may write a couple more of these drabbles if I get enough reviews.


	3. Chapter 3

_Almost done with these drabbles. Can we call them drabbles? One more. _

She loves no man but Cesare and never, not for a fleeting moment, have her thoughts strayed from her golden brother. When she was 10 years old her father had organized a tourney to welcome King Aerys to the west. She had seen the prince in the flesh for the first time that day, in black plate over golden ringmail.

"_You must be especially beautiful,"_ Lady Genna told her, fussing with her dress, _"for at the final feast it shall be announced that you and Prince Rhaegar are betrothed."_

And though he was handsome and though she knew she should be enraptured by the thought of being queen to this young man, it had come as a relief when Aerys had shattered any talks of a marriage proposal.

Cesare fills her heart thoroughly, her every breath is for him.

And when he walks into her chamber, when he walks into that room her first instinct is to rush to him, embrace him, hold him tight and kiss him fiercely. He is so beautiful, his hair golden and his eyes the deepest green, and he sports the deep crimson colours of the Lannisters, looking mightier than any king. Like a dream.

But she sees the look on his face, a look she has seen before: the disdain and anger enveloping him. So she holds her breath and manages to remain rooted to her spot as he speaks.

"Do you think that I am your servant?" Cesare says.

"Brother—" she begins but he cuts her off, his voice unkind.

"I cannot believe you would have Eddard Stark fetch me for you. The stupidity of the gesture—"

"How is it stupid?" she demands, cutting him off this time. "You had not come and I needed to speak to you. Is that such a crime?"

"What did you need me for?"

"What did I need you for?" Jaimee replies, incredulous. " I wanted to see you! To speak to you! I was prisoner to Aerys and had to endure his madness for many months!"

She forgets the composure she has been trying to cultivate and rushes towards him, but he only takes a step back.

"What are you doing?"

"You have killed a king and shamed our house, and you expect everything to be the same," he says nonsensically.

"You blame me?"

"It was your hand that slayed him. All through the city they are calling you the Kingslayer. They are making songs about you. Jaimee Lannister, the Kingslayer."

"Do you think I wanted to be called a murderess?"

"I don't know what you wanted," Cesare says dismissively. "I know that you've never done as you've been told and now you've killed Aerys and thwarted all our chances at a crown. You might have been queen, if you'd managed to catch the prince's eye."

Rhaegar, yes. It was always Rhaegar. When the prince had married Elia Martell, Cesare had blamed her. She must have done or said something stupid when the prince and Jaimee had been introduced, something that made him discard her as a potential bride. She had been sent to court to serve the dark-haired princess but her brother had never stopped thinking Jaimee could become queen. When her brother learned that her father was considering marrying her off to Jon Arryn and that Jaimee might meet her betrothed at the tourney in Harrenhal, Cesare had secretly opposed the idea.

"_It would be silly to waste you on such a man,"_ Cesare had whispered in her ear. _"Elia is sickly. She almost died giving birth to her second child. A year or two and she might pass away, frail thing that she is. And then…you might be queen."_

"_But Cesare…" _

"_You want to go away? You want to be with some other man?"_

"_No." _

"_No. Then speak sweetly to the king and tell him you do not want to go to Harrenhal with father. Tell him you do not want to marry Jon Arryn and that you wish to remain at court. Tell him."_

And she had. But her victory had been short lived: Tywin Lannister, learning that Aerys had meddled in his affairs and cost his daughter another good marriage had left for Casterly Rock in a huff, his son in tow. Jaimee remained at court, perhaps because Aerys would not let her go, perhaps because Tywin knew she had begged the king to interfere with the betrothal. Probably for both reasons.

Then the prince had crowned the Stark girl Queen of Love and Beauty. Aerys had grown more paranoid and would not let Jaimee out of his sight. Soon war broke out and everything went wrong. Cesare's machinations had been all for nought.

"I did not want the prince, I wanted you. We could have left long ago and be far away by now. I'd be free, instead of in this chamber. Free with you. We could still do it, we could live as husband and wife—"

"Rhaegar was the key to true power," he replies.

"The prince was married."

"That did not stop the Stark bitch, did it?" Cesare says. "Her brother's gone to fetch her now, she's in some blasted tower at the edge of the Red Mountains of Dorne. Our new queen. You fool. You ought to have done something. You should have seduced Rhaegar, let him fuck you."

"If you wanted the crown so much, maybe you should have fucked him," she says.

His hand strikes her cheek, a hard blow that makes her eyes water.

"You stupid whore," he mutters, grabbing her by the wrists and shoving her back.

Jaimee collides with a chair and sits upon the floor, staring at her brother. All the will to fight escapes her body as she exhales and she is left only with a deep sorrow in her gut, the anger washed away.

"Will they exile me?" she asks. "Would you go with me if they did?"

"Don't be stupid. I must leave. I should not be here in the first place."

"Don't leave. I've waited for you for hundreds of days and lost the best part of me in this place. Don't say you will leave," she pleads. Despite his unkindness she loves him still and her heart bleeds for him.

"I should not be here," he repeats icily, turning away.

She sits there, on the cold floor long after the door closes behind him. What is the punishment for regicide? Drawing and quartering? Hanging? Breaking at the wheel? Beheading. Yes. It is beheading. She wraps her hands around her own neck, measuring the span of her neck, then rests them on her lap.

She shakes her head. They won't kill her. They _won't_. But she almost wishes they would.

She thinks of better days, when Cesare had kissed her and whispered sweet words to her, his hands all over her body and the weight of his body, his beautiful smile… But then her thoughts return to the throne room, the knife in her hands, the corpse upon the floor and Eddard Stark walking towards her, staring into her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

He dies two years after they return North. Ned's poor, mangled brother. He carried a sickness in his body, a sickness that never left him, and his eyes were so haunted Ned could barely look at him. He dies and he leaves Ned to rule Winterfell — although he already had, Brandon was incapable of doing much — and he leaves Ned to watch over his widow, Catelyn. He leaves no heirs. How could he? So ill and broken, his poor brother. And finally he leaves Ned with a task: he must deliver a letter to Jaimee Lannister.

Ned bristles at the task, but he obeys. He has always obeyed, always done right by his family. Even when Lyanna said "Promise me, Ned," Ned did promise. Even though it shamed him, even though he did not want to keep secrets from Robert…Ned obeyed.

New obeys once more and heads to Lannisport. As a punishment for her transgressions Jaimee Lannister had been sent to spend a year in silent prayer in a motherhouse in Oldtown but he knows she has now returned home. It was such a small punishment. Stannis Baratheon had urged the king to exile Jaimee, but Robert had refused.

"_I hear they__'__ve named you Kingslayer,__" _Robert had told the girl. _"__Just don__'__t make it a habit.__"_ And he laughed.

As he approaches Lannisport Ned Stark considers King Robert and Queen Lyanna, considers Aerys and Rhaegar, considers the fair-haired Jaimee Lannister who he has not seen in two years. Grimly he marches on, the letter in his pocket until he reaches Casterly Rock and is taken to the Lady Lannister.

She wore white the first time he saw her but now she sports a dress of the most vivid green, her golden hair falling free past her shoulders and her back very straight.

"Lord Stark," she says. "This is an unexpected visit."

Despite her words she does not seem surprised to see him. They stand in a large, ornate room with elaborate tapestries hanging from the walls and Ned can hear the sound of the ocean far away, waves crashing against rocks.

"My brother passed away recently. He wrote a letter to you, while on his deathbed," he says, taking out the piece of parchment.

Jaimee takes the letter from his hands and stands by the window, scanning its contents. When she is done she folds the letter and looks at him.

"I do not understand this."

"He was in love with you, my lady," Ned says.

There are jewels in her hair and they glitter under the sun's rays, but her hair itself is golden.

"I did not know him. I spoke to him but _once_."

"Once is enough to make a man a fool of himself sometimes, Lady Lannister," he says and his voice is harsh, brimming with accusations because in those two years he has seen the tears in Catelyn's eyes and the shadows in Brandon's own. His brother has been haunted by his time in King's Landing, but also by the memory of a golden-haired girl.

"Your sister would know," she mutters.

It is a cruel thing to say because it is so very true. She stares out the window.

"Is that all you've come for?" she asks. "You could have sent a raven."

"He felt the letter would be safe only in my hands."

"As if it contained such wise words," she mutters. "Two lines of idly scrawled poetry."

_Two lines, but Catelyn might have given the world for them and she shall never have them_. And this thought leads him to Robert and Lyanna, the resigned expression on his sister's face.

What would this girl know of love and loss? Nothing, it seems.

"Life is unfair. Those we love do not love us back, does we want do not want us though we may keep wanting them," she says, surprising him with those words. As if she's read his mind. He wonders if he really is so transparent.

The girl shrugs.

"Walk with me," she says.

They walk to the beach. There is a breeze, the salty air caressing Jaimee's hair, the waves nipping at her heels as she walks leisurely by his side, picking seashells. The seagulls cry above their heads and it is lonely here.

"I went to the dungeons to see how your brother was faring," she begins."I was curious. I wanted to know if he still lived. He did. Knowing not what to say now that I was in front of him I asked him if The Wall really was as tall as they said. He asked me why I wanted to know. I told him my little brother wanted to see it and he would be mightily disappointed if it turned out to be a couple of rocks piled together.

"'My lady,' he said. 'It is made of solid ice. The top is wide enough for a dozen mounted knights to ride abreast.' And then he asked me about my home and the wonders there. I told him about the lions. When I was a child we had a pair of lions in a cage. One time Cesare and I were looking at them and he told me to touch one, to pull its mane. I was too frightened, but he did touch it. The lion licked his fingers. Cesare was brave.

"Your brother told me there was more than one way to be brave. Then I left. We talked only that one time."

Jaimee bends down to pick another seashell.

"I didn't think he'd remember that. Or me. That is the sum of it Lord Stark. They already call me a sorceress and say I killed the king with my magic, I will not have you saying I bewitched your brother."

"Who calls you a sorceress?"

"Haven't you heard the song? I always wanted to be in a song, though not quite like this. My father and my brother are quite distressed. It's not exactly 'The Rains of Castamere' though it does have a jolly tune."

"There are not many bards in the North."

"I suppose there are not. It is frightfully cold though ironically if I had been born a man I would have been sent there, wouldn't I? To join your Night's Watch."

"A man of honor would have taken the black."

"But I have no honor," she says flinging the seashells away, into the sea. "And I am no man. Though you are still afraid of me. Why?"

"Women like you are dangerous."

"There are no women like me. Only me."

He regards her critically and wonders what his brother ever thought sending him to greet this girl, if he expected her tears to stain the letter he had written her or imagined she might fling herself into the ocean if Ned was not there to stop her. And now he allows himself to remember the woman he has been trying to studiously avoid all this while: Ashara Dayne who threw herself into the sea from atop the Palestone Sword.

They reach a cliff's edge and stand before the vastness of the sea. His hair falls in his eyes and there is a taste of salt on his lips.

_So...I might write one more of these and finish it. Or finish it here. I don't know._


	5. Chapter 5

He returns to see her three more times, three more days. They always walk by the seashore. They talk. Well, she talks. Eddard Stark is a quiet man with scant words for her.

She doesn't understand why he comes to see her, showering Jaimee with quiet resentment. Perhaps it's some form of elaborate torture. Because she killed a king. Because Ned's brother loved her. Because she is a Lannister. She does not know.

Maybe she is mistaken and he is simply lonely and thinks she might provide a kind shoulder to lean his head on. She gives him no reprieve. She mocks him and she jests, and she talks loudly as they walk by the sea, but she offers no comfort.

"Are you a good swimmer?" she asks, looking at the waves.

"I'm afraid not."

"I am a wonderful swimmer. Water is the Lannister's element just as ice belongs to you Starks. When I was a child Cesare and I came to the beach every day and we swam together. I was always faster than him. I pressed further into the sea," she says.

She recalls her brother, who is in King's Landing with her father, plotting and scheming and abandoning her to the rocks and the surf because she is now of little value to him. She has the sudden desire to run into the waiting waves.

She begins pulling at her dress, taking it off, and Eddard Stark lets out a dry cough.

"What are you doing?"

"Swimming."

"Lady Lannister..."

"I'll keep my shift on so you don't die of embarrassment. It wouldn't do. A dead Lord of Winterfell at my feet. They'll say I have a taste for men's blood."

He doesn't seem amused by her quips. His face is stony, displeased.

"Oh, bugger off," she mutters and wades into the sea.

The water is lovely, welcoming. By the time she return to the beach, her shift sodden with water, eyes sparkling and the sun glinting on her hair, she expects him to be gone. He is still there, gloomy and indifferent, eyeing a starfish stranded on the sand.

"Why are you here?" she demands.

"I would be wrong if I didn't escort you back—"

"No, why are you still here? Why haven't you gone back to your blasted North?" she asks. "You bore me, nipping at my heels like some dog even if your sigil is the wolf. Dogs, all of you! You and your father, and that worthless dead brother of yours, and that bitch of your sister who wears a crown on her brow."

Jaimee's mocking seems to have the intended effect and Eddard Stark frowns, oh so deeply. If she were a man and had a sword they'd duel for sure, she'd skewer him and leave him to die in the middle of this stretch of sand.

"When my brother lay delirious in his bed, muttering your name in his wife's presence – such a sweet and caring woman who deserves nothing but praise – I hoped there was a good reason for it. And when he scrawled those words on a piece of parchment with trembling hands, begging with his last breath that I bring his letter to you I hoped you were somehow worthy of such an effort. But now I see it was nothing but fool's gold, that he pinned after some illusion and you are no lady, you are not worthy of praise or love. You are a—"

The anger that courses through her body makes her clench her teeth together.

"A whore. A strumpet. A kingslayer," she says, clapping her hands. "I wear my mantle proudly, sir. Go away."

She sits down, her back to him, hoping he will vanish now. Instead he speaks. His voice is different. Resigned. He speaks to the sea, not to her. He couldn't be speaking to her. She's told her secrets to the sea so many times before so she can understand the lure of the water which forces the truth from one's lungs. He speaks, then, to the sea.

"When I return North it will be real, I will be Lord of Winterfell and my brother will be dead. While I am here, it isn't so. I can still pretend…none of it was supposed to be mine. I was not meant to be heir of anything. The second son. Brandon…it was so easy for him. So natural. He was good with the sword, with words, with women. And I loved him but I also envied him sometimes. Sometimes _I_ wished…"

His voice trails into silence. The sea roars, but it offers no answers. And she thinks that if the sea has no words, then she shouldn't have any either. But she talks to him, anyway, because sometimes she wishes the sea would speak to her. She didn't need the sea, once, when there was Cesare. Maybe Eddard didn't need her words, before, when he had his brother. But he is here now.

"You didn't kill him," she says, looking over her shoulder, glancing at him. "You couldn't save him. It was not your fault. Chance. Circumstance. You couldn't help it. Is that why you've come? I absolve you. Go home."

She hugs her knees and the sea seems so vast she fears it will swallow her whole. Jaimee holds her breath and the breeze blowing suddenly chills her and it's cold and lonely and she just keeps staring at the water.

He sits down next to her and though she doesn't look at him, engrossed by the waves, she can tell he is frowning. He rests a hand upon her shoulder and she lifts her fingers and holds it in place. They watch the tide come in like that.

"If you ever return to Lannisport, you should find me," she says. "We can converse once again."

"Find me when you go North," he says, helping her to her feet. "We shall converse."

Small fishing boats move in the distance, dragging themselves over the waves. The sky changes, deepening its colors. She listens to the crash of the waves and the sound swallows her. She nods at him.

**That's it. The end. I might write a couple of separate drabbles set in the same universe, mostly because I want to write more about male Cersei. But that's it for now, for this series ofs drabbles. **


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